I was taught brutal lessons in discernment before I met Rick, which was good because I knew better than to Disney-fy him. That Rick and I communicated with each other, I have no doubt. I lived it. Whether he knew it or not, Rick taught me many profound, personal lessons, but the greatest one was to cross the bridge between him and me, to come to him. I didn’t even have to be wide open, all I needed was to be a little open, open enough for him to see inside my heart, which means to read me. That is all. Clear, I imagine him thinking, and nothing more. When I touched him the first time, when I buried my fingers into his fur, tacky with cat oil and dirt, I was terrified. Not that he would hurt me, but of the power of my own feelings that surged from somewhere in the air then up through me and crackled at the point where my skin met his. It was like all my life I had been waiting for a moment such as that. It was all the proof I needed of the mystery, of how enthusiastic the mystery is for us to participate in it.

To Rick, my teacher and my friend, who awoke in me a very different idea of love. We are all one. And thank you, Jim, for understanding.